


Royal

by maraudertimes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Contains profanity, F/M, Humor, Spoilers, young adult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6429805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudertimes/pseuds/maraudertimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name is Carolyn Vienna Josephine Melanie Teagan Avalyn Evans. She's the 19 year old queen of a small country off the coast of Ireland. She's never truly been alone.</p><p>His name is George Weasley. He's the 21 year old joke shop owner with a heart-breaking past. He's tired of being all alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

“And here… And here… And here… And here… And here… And here…”  
  
I sighed, signing the different papers where Chancellor Evans pointed. Paperwork was the worst part of my day. And it occupied the majority of my days. I didn’t even know what I was signing, but I trusted my government. The government decided what happened in Avalyn, and as my trusted Chancellor and supervisor of the Supreme Government, I trusted Chancellor Evans to make sure that all of their decisions would be beneficial to Avalyn and my people.  
  
Yes, my people. I, Carolyn Vienna Josephine Melanie Teagan Avalyn Evans, am the former crown princess to the Avalynian throne. Former because eleven years ago, when I was only eight, my mother, Queen Tabitha the Second of Avalyn, passed away.  
  
It wasn’t anything suspicious – blood loss during childbirth when she was delivering my sister – but because my father wasn’t an Avalynian born citizen, the throne got passed down to me. Yeah. The throne. I am now, in title at least, Queen Carolyn the Seventh of Avalyn. Although I prefer Carolyn.  
  
“And here… And here… And here… And here… And–”  
  
“Chancellor Evans, I’m sorry for the interruption, but do we need to do this? Can’t I just pass a law that states that I don’t need to sign every new law, bylaw, tax reduction, property foreclosure and birth certificate in Avalyn?”  
  
She smirked. “Your Highness, that would be entirely inappropriate. Avalyn depends on the dual-government system that we have in place.”  
  
“I know, I know,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I just don’t understand why there’s so much paperwork to deal with. Avalyn is just a small island. You wouldn’t think there’d be _this much_ going on.”  
  
Chancellor Evans smiled at me. “Your Highness, I realize you are still young, but this is–”  
  
“An important aspect of the dual-government system Avalyn has in place,” I droned. “Can we at least take a break?”  
  
Chancellor Evans smiled again and sighed. “Yes, we can. But only a paperwork break. We have lots of work today, Your Highness.”  
  
I groaned and didn’t even bother correcting Chancellor Evans after her third time addressing me as ‘Your Highness.’ I despised the title, constantly asking Chancellor Evans to address me as ‘Carolyn’ or even ‘Carolyn the Seventh’ if she really wants to stick to the proper forms of conduct.  
  
She gathered up the numerous files on my desk and put them away as I rubbed my temples. Headaches had been a constant ever since I turned 16 and fully took over the throne of Avalyn. Chancellor Evans came back with a stack of what seemed like letters and a mug. I took the mug and smiled as the steaming scent of Earl Grey tea wafted up. But looking down at the stack of letters, my smile dropped. I took a sip of tea and then grabbed a letter, using the peacock shaped letter opener to shred the top of the envelope.  
  
Yeah, peacock shaped letter opener. The royal animal is a peacock. Anyways, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter, smiling as I saw the telltale scribble of a young child. Those letters were always my favorite. Reading through quickly, I passed it off to Chancellor Evans, instructing her to place it in my quarters. I would write back as soon as I could.  
  
We went through these motions for a good hour or so, placing the death threats in a pile for my own personal secret service to deal with, – yeah, I have my own secret service – bills and other expenses in a pile for my father to deal with, and anything else that wasn’t important straight into the garbage can.  
  
There were some rare letters I would respond to personally and they would go straight to my quarters, but the majority were boring messages that made me want to go back to paperwork. As I finished my fifth cup of tea, I picked up a letter and sighed.  
  
Pressing a button on the intercom that lead to the communications headquarters of the castle – yeah, I live in a castle, that’s part of being a queen – I sighed into the microphone.  
  
“Mr. Ellison, please page Marielle’s attendant. I need her in my office right away.”  
  
“Certainly Your Highness,” the head of the communications department said, clicking some buttons. “Anything else I may help you with?”  
  
“No thank you.”  
  
With that I clicked off the intercom and resumed my work. The letters were almost halfway done and as Chancellor Evans brought me another cup of tea, I heard a knock on my door. I called out for them to come in and I turned as Marielle came in. I smiled at her as she bounced over to me, her blond curls, so similar to my own, floating behind her.  
  
“Hey Carolyn!” She exclaimed happily. “You wanted to see me?”  
  
I smiled and passed her the letter. “This is for you.”  
  
She gave me a confused look. I handed her the peacock letter opener and she quickly ripped it open. I couldn’t remember the last time she had received anything in the mail that was worth anything and she was obviously excited. She took out the letter and began reading it, her eyes darting across the paper at an unimaginable pace.  
  
One thing we had both received from our mother, apart from the trademark Evans family blonde hair, – which coincidentally Chancellor Evans, my mother’s distant cousin, inherited too – was an inexplicable love of reading. So, within a minute, Marielle had read the entire letter, her face as white as the parchment she was holding.  
  
“Marielle, what’s wrong?” I asked, snatching the envelope form the table where she had left it. If it was a death threat, the entire letter and the envelope would have to go to the secret service right away. “Marielle, what does it say? Chancellor Evans,” I said in a panicked voice, “have you ever heard of a group that calls themselves ‘Hogwarts?’”  
  
She shook her head and I felt queasy. Whatever this organization was, it had obviously frightened my sister and I’d be damned if I didn’t get all the information on them that I could to keep her safe.  
  
“Marielle,” I said desperately, getting off my chair and kneeling down in front of her, “give me the letter.”  
  
Her grip was fierce, the letter tearing in a few places as I tugged at it frantically, trying to read it myself. When I finally wrenched it out of her cold hands, I glanced over it, my eyes widening in shock.  
  
“Send message to my father,” I said, turning to look at Chancellor Evans. “If this is true, I think our entire argument over Marielle’s transition from tutoring to private school with be void.”  
 


	2. 'Bloody Royals'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heated discussion between Carolyn and her father leads to unprecedented ideas.

“Carolyn, I am her _father_. I do not think that this decision is best for Marielle!”  
  
I stamped my foot childishly. “Eurgh! Father, this isn’t some sort of joke. These people are real! _Magic_ is real! If she is like them, then she should get the best education she can.”  
  
“Carolyn,” he said, his voice dangerously low and his eyes flashing with anger, “I don’t want to hear any more of this. The discussion is over and my answer is final.”  
  
I stamped my foot once more and sat down on one of the chairs, crossing my arms. My father mirrored me, glaring at me from a far more uncomfortable chair. Well hah, father, I thought vindictively. I’m the queen and the queen gets the comfy chair.  
  
I pouted un-royally but didn’t break the stare. It was a battle of who would give up first, and I was _not_ going to back down. Then again, my stubbornness _did_ come from him, so this might go on for a while, so I was thankful when Chancellor Evans came between us and dropped stacks of paper down in front of me on the desk.  
  
“I’m sorry for the interruption, Your Highness, but the paperwork doesn’t stop and neither can you,” she said, glancing nervously between my father and me.  
  
I nodded curtly. “That’s not a problem Chancellor Evans. My father and I have just reached a decision anyways. Please call for a press conference.”  
  
“A press conference, Your Highness?”  
  
“Yes,” I said as I stared defiantly at my father. “Marielle will be attending Hogwarts in September and we must address the issue so as not to cause discomfort or lack of trust within the nation.”  
  
My father’s nostrils flared and he stood up, taking a threatening step towards me. “CAROLYN! I am her _father_ and you _will_ listen to me. She will not be going to this school, hundreds of kilometres away.”  
  
“Why not? So you can keep her in _our_ castle, without the possibility of making friends, the only teaching she’ll get from a handful of tutors that _you_ deem acceptable?”  
  
“I don’t like that tone young lady. And yes, that is exactly what I want. I want my daughter safe from harm.”  
  
I snorted. “No, you want to shelter her like you did with me. News flash, I’m her sister. I know what she’ll want.”  
  
“Well I’m her father,” he sniffed, as childishly as I was behaving. “And I know what’s best for her.”  
  
“NO YOU DON’T!” I shouted, slamming my fist down on the desk and standing up to face him. The absence of my mandated public appearance heels made the height difference between us clear, but I didn’t back down. “Ever since mum died, you pulled me out of private school and have kept me in this God forsaken castle, cooped up like a bird in a cage. I can’t remember the last time I actually talked to someone my age. I’m the bloody queen of a bloody country and I have no friends. My only confidant is Chancellor Evans, who’s not only twice as old as me but also distantly related to me.” I sighed, reigning in my anger. “I don’t resent you for your decisions after Marielle was born and mum… and mum passed, but I will _not_ subject Marielle to that same prison. She _will_ go to this school, whether or not you like it. Get that through your skull.”  
  
My father glared at me, his teeth grinding against each other. “Carolyn, I will not have you speak to me like that. I am her father. You are just her 19 year old sister.”  
  
“Oh really?” I laughed, giving up all notions of politeness and cordiality in face of my annoyance with him. “Because it seems to me that I’m the fucking queen of a nation. _Her_ nation. And she’s the Crown Princess. Do you honestly believe that I will have no say in where she goes?”  
  
We stared at each other for a moment, my poisonous words seeping deep into his mind. I had never sworn in front of my father before. I had actually never sworn ever. After mum died and I was immediately put into rush training, they taught me that swearing was un-royal and un-ladylike. I had also never pulled rank like that. For a moment I thought he was going to start screaming at me and I was going to scream right back, but Chancellor Evans stepped between us.  
  
“Stop this folly, now!” She ordered, her eyes dark. “Mr. Wright, unfortunately I cannot have you behave this way towards Her Highness. Your Highness, unfortunately I cannot have you be so rude and condescending to your father.  Both of you are seen as highly remarkable and logical people in Avalyn, yet you both fail to ask yourselves one thing.”  
  
I looked at Chancellor Evans confusedly and saw my father do the same. She rolled her eyes and I could’ve sworn I heard her mutter ‘Bloody royals’ under her breath.  
  
“What does Marielle want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. How do you like? Read and review!


	3. The Crown Princess's Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Marielle gets a choice.

I was sitting on one of the couches in one of my many sitting rooms, arms crossed and pouting at my father. He was pacing around, his impeccable shoes making patterns in the soft rug I had ordered would adorn all my most visited suites. Of course, that was when I was 12 years old, so the rug was a putrid purple colour.  
  
I promised myself I would get it ripped out and replaced as soon as this schooling issue for Marielle was decided. I heard the door open and turned my head quickly, smiling as Marielle stepped into my quarters. Her face was still paper white and I got up to walk over to her. My father shot me a glare but I ignored him.  
  
Giving my 11 year old sister a hug, I took her hand and semi-dragged her over to the couch I was sitting on. Letting my work clothes – sweatpants and a tank top that Chancellor Evans _hated_ with a passion because it wasn’t ‘presentable’ – wrinkle as I sat down, I glanced over at my father and reveled in the sour look on his face.  
  
“Marielle,” I started, but seeing my father glare at me, I stopped and frowned, crossing my arms and leaning back into the couch.  
  
My father stepped forward, uncrossing his arms. “Marielle. I know that letter surprised you this morning, and _apparently_ ,” he shot a furious glance at Chancellor Evans and then at me, “it is not some sort of crock, though I still reserve some doubts. Your sister and I have called you in here to ask you a very important question.”  
  
He paused and Marielle looked at us, her head seeming to whirl as she whizzed between us.  
  
“Marielle,” he continued, walking forward and taking her hands in his, “what do _you_ want to do?”  
  
“Um, what do I want to do what?” She asked, her usually happy voice mixed with confusion.  
  
“Do you want to go to this Hogwarts, stay at home and be tutored in the castle, or attend private school somewhere else in Avalyn?” I asked, staring daggers at my father.  
  
She gave me a look. “It’s my choice?”  
  
I smirked at my father and stood up, walking over to one of the windows and staring outside at the plush green grounds I hardly ever got the chance to use anymore. A wave of light-headedness washed over me and I leaned against the window trimming to steady myself.  
  
“You’re growing up, Marielle,” my father said, sending me a glare. “It’s time for you… time for you to make your own decisions about your scholarly progress.”  
  
I smirked as I heard his teeth audibly grit. Marielle turned back to me and I hid it, nodding solemnly.  
  
“I get to _choose_ where I go to school?”  
  
“Yes,” my father said in a strained voice.  
  
She looked at me, a happy smile growing on her face. “Carolyn, I get to choose?” I smiled and nodded, and she sighed dreamily. “I get to learn magic?”  
  
My father pursed his lips and seemed about to say something, but Chancellor Evans raised her eyebrow at him and he seemed to think better of it.  
  
“Carolyn,” Chancellor Evans began, and Marielle’s face seemed to fall, “while I condone Crown Princess Marielle’s decision, she is still the Crown Princess of Avalyn.”  
  
I pursed my lips and scrunched my eyebrows together, deep in concentration. “Chancellor Evans, I do see what you’re saying. A school that no one in the entire castle has heard of until now, to become the home of Marielle for months at a time? Definitely not safe.”  
  
Marielle’s face fell and my father’s seemed to brighten. I tasted copper in my mouth at my disappointment in not being able to accommodate my sister’s decision.  
  
“True,” Chancellor Evans said, a small smirk barely visible on her face. “We do not know if this Hogwarts is safe. _Yet_.”  
  
I grinned. “Chancellor Evans, get me in contact with the headmistress. McGwenall or something.”  
  
“McGonagall.”  
  
“Right. McGonagall. Get me in contact with her. Marielle won’t be going anywhere until I personally make sure this place is safe.”  
  
I turned to Marielle who grinned broadly. She raced over and threw herself into my arms.  
  
“I can go to Hogwarts? I can learn magic?”  
  
I smiled and held her to me, her apricot shampoo scent making its way to my nose. “Yeah, Mary,” I whispered, using the ‘improper’ nickname I had given her years ago. “You’re going to learn magic.”  
 


	4. Travel Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn's night time ramblings.

I had corresponded with Headmistress McGonagall quite a few times since Marielle chose to attend Hogwarts, and we were set to leave in a few days to meet with Headmistress McGonagall at Hogwarts in a few days. Chancellor Evans was going to stay behind in Avalyn with my father, so a small tag team of guards and attendants would accompany Marielle and me to Hogwarts for the first of September.  
  
Of course, we would be flying over in a private jet and then let the Headmistress accompany us to the castle her own way. I didn’t do trains. Yeah, it sounds snobbish, but to be honest, I’m a _queen_. I’m going to act like it if I want something. I had set up a press conference for yesterday and had announced that I was sending Marielle to an international boarding school to ‘help create international ties.’  
  
I was keeping the information private so as to ‘keep Marielle safe from potential threats’ since she was going to be far from anyone who could help her if need be.  
  
No bodyguards would reside at Hogwarts since none were supposed to know about it anyways – my task team was going to have their memory erased at some point before we set off back to Avalyn after our week was up – so to accommodate that, I had both Marielle and Headmistress McGonagall promise not to let anything about her position as Crown Princess of Avalyn slip.  
  
And as the days before we left for Hogwarts came closer and closer, I had Chancellor Evans prepare what needed to be packed for Marielle as she would not come back until Christmas, as well as a larger amount of things that I would need, what with my condition. Of course, the magical things – such as a wand and robes – would have to be purchased from somewhere in London, so we were leaving a day early to get that figured out.  
  
I was nervous and excited all at the same time, and I knew that Marielle was even more so. Fidgeting as I contemplated all I had done for this trip – and for Marielle – I stared up at the ceiling of my bed. It was going to be a hassle for me to travel, not to mention how uncomfortable it would be for me, but I would do it for Marielle. As I sighed and turned over in my bed, I heard the door open and I quickly shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.  
  
I heard the soft footsteps of my primary attendant, Quinn, and then the slight tugging of the tubes in my left arm. After the initial discomfort, I felt the telltale stickiness of bandages on my arm. As Quinn left, I turned onto my other side and glared at the machine that had been attached to me for the past few hours. Always in my room, always glaring at me, always reminding me of the fact that while my blood may be royal blood, it will always run through tainted veins.  
  
The veins my mother gave to me, and brought to her own death bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: hey hey hey! Please tell me what you think!


	5. Crown of Blood and Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stomach-turning flight and the first meeting with the headmistress.

I stared out the jet window, my stomach in knots and my head spinning. My throat burned like it always did when I got sick, but as I saw Quinn staring at me cautiously and Marielle glancing over every so often with a concerned look on her face, I contorted my face into a half-smile-half-grimace in attempt to calm them down. It didn’t seem to work.  
  
I wondered if Chancellor Evans had been travelling with us, whether or not she would be giving me the same looks. My condition was worse than hers (and frankly worse than anyone else’s had ever been – except for Great-Aunt Margaret apparently), but she was never patronizing. Staring out the window, I sighed and fiddled with the crown in my lap. Since this was a public outing of sorts, I had to get dressed up.  
  
My full-length, puffy dress was a light blue that matched the colour of my heels. My hair was pilled n my head and coiffed expertly so as to highlight the golden crown I now held in my lap – it weighed about 10 pounds and had been giving me a headache. The jewels alone probably cost more than my entire castle, but that wasn’t why I liked it so much. This had been the crown that had been forged when the first king of Avalyn declared himself king.  
  
King Prometheus the First had directed Irish monks to forge the crown out of gold found in the Avalynian mountains. Of course, he had first kidnapped the monks and then had them mine the gold themselves, so all in all, not a good king. But that wasn’t why I loved the crown. The monks had been so mad at King Prometheus that they didn’t forge it properly or something – Avalyn’s history about enslaved monks forging a crown for a royal dictator isn’t all that specific – and deep red marks crisscrossed around the headpiece.  
  
The monks told King Prometheus it was just a lack of experience on their part, but the distinct patterns of the lines were enough to have King Prometheus arrest them and he almost sent them to the gallows. But before they were hanged, his wife Avalyn – yeah, he named his new country after his wife… how original – snuck down into the dungeons and had them smuggled out.  
  
Then, when she had successfully rounded up guards that were loyal to her and not her husband, she had them stationed outside her husband’s door while she slipped inside and stabbed him. Morbid, I know. There was also something about a curse, but I had ignored that part. But this Avalyn went on to become queen, reign justly and regally, and she also had seven different children from five different men, while remaining a widow.  
  
Her oldest, Vienna, was crowned queen per Avalyn’s request to give the crown to her eldest _child_ and not eldest son when she died at age 57. Vienna followed in her mother’s footsteps and never married but had three children from three different men. Again, she demanded that her eldest _child_ get the crown after her death, which was when she was only 44 years old.  
  
Queen Carolyn the first was that child, and since then, the crown has been handed down from mother to daughter, generation after generation. There has never been a king of Avalyn since King Prometheus.  
  
And that's why I loved this crown. Made for a man but was stolen by a woman and has been worn by women and only women since then. It demonstrated how strong my family was. How strong it would be. And as I slowly traced my fingers along the inside of the crown, I smiled as I felt the familiar scratching of letters. A few days before your death, you’re supposed to scratch your initial into the rim of the crown, to leave part of your wisdom for whoever wears it next.  
  
My mother’s glaring scratch rubbed against my finger and I slyly wiped a tear from my eye as the wheels of the plane touched down. Time to be the queen people knew me to be. I placed the crown on my head and straightened my back. Pulling myself up, I walked over to the door of the plane, holding on to it to keep myself steady.  
  
When the jet finally stopped altogether and a flight attendant opened the door, I put on a coy smile like Chancellor Evans had taught me and took a step out into the sunshine. Only an older woman was on the runway, a tight smile stretched across her lips. I delicately walked down the stairs and held out my hand to her as she neared.  
  
“Headmistress McGonagall, I presume?” I asked politely.  
  
She nodded curtly. “That I am. Queen Carolyn, is it?”  
  
“That it is,” I said, shaking her hand firmly. “But if it’s not too much to ask, Carolyn is just fine.”  
  
She frowned. “While I appreciate it, you do not need to try and act too common for my sake. Please be yourself.”  
  
“I am. Carolyn is who I am,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “The crown is but something attached to the blood that flows through my veins. It is not me, but will always be a part of me. I cannot change my blood, but you may find I can change my attitude.”  
  
The ghost of a real smile flickered across her weathered face and she looked past me, up at the jet. I turned slightly and grinned as I saw Marielle step out, her pretty features accentuated by the yellow of her dress. She didn’t have heels, but flats and she bounded down the steps to stand next to me, her hand slipping into mine.  
  
“Marielle,” I said, gesturing towards the headmistress, “this is Headmistress McGonagall.”  
  
Marielle thrust out the hand that wasn’t entwined with mine and shook the woman’s hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said cordially.  
  
“The pleasure is all mine,” Headmistress McGonagall said, finally smiling down at my sister. “Now, why don’t I get you to Diagon Alley. There is a nice place to stay and tomorrow I can send one of my most trusted professors to guide you along.”  
  
I smiled and squeezed Marielle’s hand. “Thank you, but if you don’t mind, I think we can find our way there ourselves.”  
  
“I have no doubt you are _competent_ enough to find Diagon Alley,” the woman in front of me said, pursing her lips. “The problem is, Diagon Alley is part of the _wizarding_ world.”  
  
I nodded slowly. “Well then, I await to meet this professor. Shall we say at nine?”  
  
“Perfect. And Your Highness, dress appropriately, like you are today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Up next, our first glimpse of George!


	6. Prejudice in Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Dragon Alley goes strangely well...

The crown was pinching my head and my heels were pinching my toes but I kept the coy smile that Chancellor Evans had promised me made me look like a veritable queen. Today, my dress was midnight blue and my heels were white with tiny midnight coloured gems around the edges. Marielle had a light blue dress and flats that mirrored mine from yesterday but evoked a sense of innocence instead of my regality.  
  
A small wizard with strange billowing robes was accompanying us down Diagon Alley. First he had led us through a pub where only one man tended the bar, though it seemed that there were no customers. The bartender had given us a dirty look and the little wizard – Flitter-wick I think? – had hurried us into the back where he tapped against a wall and the most amazing thing happened.  
  
The bricks began to move, completely by themselves, and soon we were standing in front of a deserted street. I found that the silence and lack of people made me uneasy, but Flitter-wick hurried us along. First we needed robes for Marielle which was difficult because she was wearing a dress. So Flitter-wick thanked the lady working there and rushed us out to find Marielle’s school uniform first.  
  
he witch at the robe shop had given us a dirty look too. So when we went back to her robe shop, I gave her one right back and she rolled her eyes. But we had successfully gotten Marielle’s robes and school books after a tedious two hours – guards never made things quick _or_ easy, let alone with heels on – and we were on our way to find her an owl when a freckled red-head stopped our little guide, a frown on his face.  
  
“Flitwick, how long is this supposed to take?” He asked, only looking at Marielle and I to shoot us a dirty look.  
  
What was with these magic folk and giving us dirty looks? I mean, I realize we are royalty and they aren’t, but that is absolutely no reason to treat us like that. I had been polite to every single one of these people until they shot me those looks, so what was their problem?  
  
Flitwick, not Flitter-wick, sniffed at the redhead. “Mr. Weasley, if it’s that much of a bother to you, we can visit Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes right now.”  
  
“Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” I asked. “What does that sell?”  
  
Mr. Weasley shot me another dirty look. “It’s a joke shop. There’s probably nothing that _you_ would occupy yourself with, _princess_.”  
  
He said the word princess like one would say broccoli. Like it tasted vile in his mouth. My hostrils flared as did my anger. While I didn’t mind if people treated me differently than what should be accepted as a royal (as I hate being so formal all the time), it was completely different when they assumed that I thought I was better than they were. Especially when they thought that they were better than me. And this Mr. Weasley definitely thought he was better than me.  
  
“Ex _cuse_ me, _Mister_ Weasley,” I replied scathingly. “You see this crown on my head. That crown is for the queen. If you insist on regarding me as filth because of some prejudice you harbour, you better be sure to address me by my proper title. And my sister? _Crown_ princess. And Mr. Flitwick, if it so pleases you, I don’t believe we will be stopping by Mr. Weasley’s _joke shop_. If the owner acts like this in public, who knows how he manages a business?”  
  
With that, I turned on my heel and walked past my guards, pulling Marielle along with me. I could see tears forming in her eyes. She was extremely delicate having never really been in public. Our father shielded her notoriously. And these people treating us like dirt was really getting to her. Pulling her over to a bench on the side of the alley, I had the guards form a type of semi-circle in front of us. Kneeling on the ground in front of her as she sat on the bench, I put my hands on her cheeks, forcing her to look me straight in the eyes.  
  
“Marielle, are you okay?” I asked as she nodded. “Because you have to ignore them. They believe we’re something we’re not and all we need to do is prove them wrong.”  
  
She let a tear fall which I quickly wiped away, and cocked her head. “But Carolyn, you acted just as people think we do. You acted like Empress Talulah. That’s not proving them wrong.”  
  
I pursed my lips. She was right. Empress Talulah, an empress of another small country off the coast of Ireland had come to visit us once and had completely appalled the entire castle. She expected my attendants and guards to succumb to her every whim, even when it directly jeopardized their safety.  
  
I had finally put my foot down and sent her back to Quivene (her country), but ever since then, Marielle had always told me when I started acting a little bit like her. But I couldn’t say anything to how I was supposed to ‘prove them wrong.’ Then, as I was looking down at the dirt and wondering what Chancellor Evans would think if she saw me kneeling in the dirt with a dress on, I had an idea. My face lit up and I scooped some dirt off the ground.  
  
“Trust me,” I told Marielle as I took some dirt and smeared it under each of her eyes  
  
 I then did the same to my own face and undid a curl in my hair to let it bounce freely in front of my face. Standing up, I wiped the rest of the dirt off my hands, took off my heels and requested that our guards let us through the almost impenetrable wall they had formed.  
  
On the other side of it, a worried looking Flitwick and a disgruntled Mr. Weasley stood, staring at us. What I wouldn’t have given for Chancellor Evans to have seen me now, with dirt on my face, my hair unperfect and my heels in my hand, letting my dress gather even more dirt at the hem. Flitwick looked flabbergasted and Mr. Weasley seemed to be searching for words as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish.  
  
“I heard there was a quaint little ice cream parlour somewhere around here?” I asked innocently, as if queens paraded around with dirt on their face and dresses, their hair undone and heels slung nonchalantly in their hands every day. “Because I could really go for some Rocky Road in a waffle cone. Possibly some sprinkles?”  
  
I felt Marielle slip her hand into mine and I looked down at her. She just smirked at me.  
  
“And don’t worry Mr. Weasley,” she said, turning to stare directly at the redhead, “if there aren’t any sprinkles we’ll fly some in from Peru. We might be able to scrounge up some extra money afterwards to pay for your surgery.”  
  
Flitwick turned to Mr. Weasley, his forehead creased in confusion. “George, what it surgery?” He whispered, but I could still here.  
  
“It’s where a doctor – someone who makes sick people better – cuts someone’s body open to take something out, put something in or fix something,” I clarified as both men looked at me in surprise. “In Mr. Weasley’s case,” I continued, squeezing Marielle’s hand, “they’re removing the stick from his arse.”  
  
As Marielle snorted as she tried to stop herself from laughing, I turned to look at my guards. Not one had a straight face. As I turned back around, Flitwick looked appalled while Mr. Weasley (George, I guess) still had a sort of awestruck look to his freckled features. I fought hard to keep my laughter down, but couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face. Taking a deep breath in, I started walking forward, dragging Marielle along and letting Flitwick and George to catch up if they wished.  
  
“So, ice cream?”  
 


	7. Lunchtime Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Professor Flitwick should have elaborated on what exactly the Hogwarts Kitchen Staff was...

I groaned and moaned and fidgeted in my bed as my attendant Quinn flitted about. It was the second day of Hogwarts and I had been confined to my quarters while half of my royal guard paraded around the castle as ‘security inspectors.’  
  
Of course, they were security inspectors, but just not magical ones as most of the faculty and entire student body believed. Boredom on my part was quick to rear its ugly head as there was no electronic devices in Hogwarts whatsoever. Apparently all the magic interrupted its signal.  
  
Bah! I couldn’t even watch the telly! Manchester United had played Arsenal yesterday and I only found out the result after my father sent us a letter by owl. Owl! Can you believe that? I certainly couldn’t, but magic folk were becoming more constant in their ways of surprising me.  
  
But as I cried out my frustrations into one of my pillows, I heard Quinn knock over something that seemed very breakable by the sound of its shattering.  
  
“Quinn?” I asked, lifting my head out of the pillow and looking over at her, my blonde hair falling unceremoniously into my face. “What was that?”  
  
Her cheeks blazed as bright as her curly hair and she gave me a sheepish grin. “I was admiring this beautiful blown-glass vase and it kind of… fell?”  
  
Her frightened expression made me grin and soon I was laughing as she looked around the room in a desperate attempt to try and see if she could fix the broken vase. She looked at me warily and walked over to my bed.  
  
“You’re not mad?” She asked, fidgeting as if scared that if she made the wrong move I would yell at her.  
  
I guffawed in a decidedly un-ladylike fashion and sat up. “It’s not as if it’s my vase or anything. I’ll just go tell the Headmistress about it. Gives me something to do. Its dreadfully boring up here.”  
  
Quinn smiled and sat down next to me. “Do you need help getting dressed?”  
  
“Quinn, you always ask this. I’m 19 years old! I can get dressed by myself! Although…”  
  
“You want me to get your clothes out for you?”  
  
I smiled at her as she got off the bed and walked into the second of my three walk-in closets. Yes, three walk-in closets. Apparently when Headmistress McGonagall created this room in anticipation of my arrival, she expected a much more high-maintenance person.  
  
So, my quarters included a bathroom as large as an elephant, three walk-in closets, a room big enough to hold 300 people, a bed as large as a flatbed truck, a dining area with a table that could hold up to 30 people, a sitting room with 20 chairs, a library with so many books I couldn’t count them all (I had already read 7 of them), and a hallway that branched off into suites for Quinn and the royal guards.  
  
It was massive.  
  
“What time is it Quinn?” I asked, getting off the bed and shimming my sleep trousers off.  
  
“Close to 12:30 I presume,” I heard from inside the closet. “Why? Are you hungry for lunch already?”  
  
I blushed angrily. “Maybe. But that’s none of your business!”  
  
She walked out of the closet as I pulled my lounging shirt over my head. Quinn and I had practically been raised together. I was no more embarrassed around her as I was around mirrors, so being in my undergarments whilst talking to her was not a problem for either of us.  
  
“Yesterday that Professor Flitwick came up with lunch and talked about Marielle. Did you know she’s a Ravenclaw? That means she’s smart!” Pride radiated from my voice as I remembered Flitwick telling me all about how Marielle was chosen to be in the House known for its intelligence.  
  
Quinn just smiled at me and threw me my clothes. I quickly undressed further and slipped on a pair of black lace undies and regular jeans, belting the latter up with a basic brown belt.  
  
“I know about Marielle. I was there remember? And is Flitwick not coming up with lunch today?” She asked as she sat on my bed, her head turned so as to give me more privacy.  
  
“No, he said he had work to do,” I said as I exchanged my neutrally beige bra for a black lace one that matched my undies. “He did mention that one of the Hogwarts kitchen staff would be bringing it up though.”  
  
Quinn nodded, and just as I was about to grab the shirt she pulled out for me and pull it on, a large crack reverberated from the sitting room, just outside my bedroom door. I looked at Quinn who had instantly turned at the loud noise. Grabbing a quilt from one of the chairs, my shirt forgotten on the floor, I burst through into the sitting room to see a truly disgusting creature with a platter.  
  
The creature was a sickly grey colour and its nose was squished. It had ears slightly larger than that of a cat and its big watery eyes dominated its ugly face. It was wearing a type of tea-cozy and its limbs were short and gangly. It only came up to my knee. I shrieked and backed away from it, stumbling into one of the chairs and falling onto the ground.  
  
Quinn raced out after me and she in turn screamed at the hideous creature. I scrambled away from it as it took a step in my direction and got up quickly, running towards the first door I could see. Bursting out, I felt cool stone under my bare feet and I sprinted away from my quarters as I heard Quinn’s screaming behind me. Soon, the screams died off as if she too was running in the corridors but in the opposite direction.  
  
Part of me wanted to turn back and find her, but the thought of that creature finding me was terrifying enough to keep me running. The quilt I had grabbed billowed behind me as my hair did, and I pulled it closer to hide my otherwise exposed flesh. Just as I rounded a corner, I slammed into something hard and solid and fell back onto the ground.  
  
“Perfect. I ran into a wall. Fucking great day,” I muttered, happy to see that the quilt had remained in its place.  
  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m a wall.”  
  
As I looked up and saw a shock of red hair, recognition coursed through me.  
  
“Weasley?”


End file.
